A compelling argument for the solo surf trip, “Screw surfing by committee!”

Where are we surfing? Where are we eating? Should we chase the swell to X? No thanks.

“Cause life is just a party and parties aren’t meant to last”
1999 , Prince

Five days left in a 60-day Indonesian visa. Looks to be double overhead and offshore for the rundown till a pre Christmas exit back home. Fuck….you never want to leave but it’s always a good idea to bolt with a bit of fuel in the tank. Always leave ‘em wanting more. Too many seedy expats lurking around Indo carting that chip on their shoulders. Learn from their mistakes. Too many perfect waves is a thing.

Back to Oz and hit the ground running. Fit, tanned and tubed as fuck. The festive spirit is an epic cushion against the inevitable comedown of East coast low period, beachbreak dogshit after a couple of months of proper waves. Catching up with mates and family when everyone has a smile on their face and a beer in their hand. Sure helps ease the pain of returning to reality.

Been a fucken blast though. I try and do a couple of two month trips to Indo each year. The late October till Chrissy trip is a no brainer. My newish home has just come out of a winter run of waves and gotten bogged down in the Springtime terrors. Insipid windswells barely stirring the cool, green chlorophyll-and-White shark ridddled North Coast Pacific. Uggghh. Fella got his leg bitten off whilst I was surfing up the other end of the beach. Surf was terrible. All the motivation I need to get the fuck out of there. Ticket to Indo bought and started soft sand running, stretch routine and push ups.

I prefer to go solo. My lady is more than cool with it. She knows all too well how poor company I can be when I’m not surfing decent waves. She comes and goes between Oz and Indo as she pleases and visits when I’m not burrowed down in some remote surf zone. Don’t get me wrong, she’s loved our shared times living rough while chasing waves, fish and respite from the masses but her mum needs attention these days so extended sojourns aren’t her thing.

I’m also not a big fan of mates coming along. Fuck surfing by committee: Where are we surfing? Where are we eating? Should we chase the swell to X ? No thanks. Way preferable to keep things loose and nimble. You meet way more people and get far more opportunities when you’re a solo traveller.

Virtually every true friend I’ve got I’ve met at some surf spot or another. You aren’t receptive to new crew when you’re wrapped in the group bubble. Too many chefs spoil the broth.

The whole process of heading to the Indisputable Best Waves in the World of Indonesia, with vast swathes of daylight before Australia sitting in second spot, is a blast. It gets real when the quiver gets selected and thrown in the board bag. That’s when the first frisson of thrill starts inching down your spine. A few beers on the flight as you watch the unbelievable vastness of Oz from 40,000 feet. Next thing you’re emerging into the ubiquitous Indo humidity and the familiar throng at the airport arrivals.

I’ve got a little bolthole where I park up between inter island missions. It’s comfortable but not too expensive. I know the staff and there’s some reliable waves nearby. They are mostly Indo B or C grade though they get damn fine often enough to keep me coming back. Low crowds seals the deal. Enough power, current and open ocean intimidation to keep the majority of the dilettante surfy crowd well the fuck away most of the time.

Each trip is its own beast. Sometimes it’s a monastic surf existence. Just trying to get as surfed out and fit as humanly possible. Up well before dawn stretching and caffeinating. First immersion in the silky kiss of a tropical lagoon in the half light of civil twilight. Other times it’s a blur of Bintangs, long lunches and sunset sessions with new friends mixing up the wave sliding.

This trip was a bit of everything. Initial couple of weeks on my own focussed on getting the wave count up. Indo came to the party with an incredible run of surf. Then an old mate turned up. We chased swells and scored an epic stretch of mid range Goldilocks quality. Nothing too big or too small. Just relentless pumping waves with accommodating winds. Kachunk, Kachunk, kachunk. Old mate came a bit underprepared and his body gave out. Then he hit the reef. Then his tiger claw reef cuts got infected. Not an ideal scenario for anyone in the vicinity. He came good in the end and fronted for the best swell yet just as I bolted back to Bali to catch up with my lady.

Waves kept coming. I managed to successfully juggle all the responsibilities of a surfer inundated with epic waves, endless Bintangs and overflowing good times. Now my lady is headed back to Oz and I’ve got a few days left on the countdown.

The usual plan is to give myself over to the Christmas knees up, let the holidaymakers have at it over January then return for another 60-day visa over February and March. Could be flat, could pump. Only one thing is for certain and that’s the Fun don’t done.

Life is short. Hope you’re all getting something good with a big smile on your face.